


Slow Animals

by sexyvanillatiger



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Barebacking, Chases, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Predator/Prey, Rimming, Rough Sex, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyvanillatiger/pseuds/sexyvanillatiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt response: "Thomas runs, and Minho chases after him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Animals

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after _The Death Cure_ and may contain spoilers.

It's been ten days. He only realizes it's been ten days because nine days ago, he was tasked with setting up a food system, which became much more complicated when immediate needs took priority over establishing a consistent source, so Thomas has been running gathering parties while also planning the first garden plots. They only have what the land will give them. It hasn't been a giving season.

Minho has been with the builders these past ten days. They've set up an entire camp's worth of temporary housing and three real homes, which currently house the extremely young and the extremely old. Thomas doesn't know when they'll have sturdy lodging for everybody; he doesn't think Minho knows either.

Ten days, though. Thomas has almost forgotten the touch of Minho on him. He hates it, sleeping in the woods amongst people who were strangers not yet a month ago. He thinks more of what he's lost on these nights when Minho isn't there; worse, he worries that Minho does the same. Under the stars, he has nightmares that the grievers still hunt them, that cranks still roam, that the world isn't starting over but still, steadily ending. He wakes up more mornings with a tight throat, tight limbs.

It has been ten days since he's even seen Minho.

It's been two weeks since he's seen camp. Five other men trailing behind him, all wearily heaving sacks on their backs. Some carry nuts, some carry fruits and grasses, two of them carry slabs of meat from the same kill. All six are met by campers who lead them to the old housing and tend to them. With fires already going, there is no delay in dividing and preparing food for the whole camp. Thomas eats well, but not as well as some. He scans the camp for Minho and finds him further away, not looking at him. It hurts in a longing sort of way. He rises to sit beside him.

Minho is discussing foundation plans. The first house is already tilting to one side. Minho, calm in expression and hard in tone, curtly rejects using the same foundation they have been using. When Thomas sits down beside him, he acknowledges his presence with little more than a hand on his knee. The older man doesn't seem to notice. His face is red and he looks a cross between embarrassed and furious. Minho dismisses him at every push to continue the conversation. Thomas thinks the man grows frustrated without even getting the hint; he storms off as though it's a personal slight. As soon as he's gone, Minho turns and collects Thomas into his arms.

He doesn't ask how gathering went. He doesn't ask if Thomas has anything special set aside for him. Thomas expects both of these things and has answers in his mind, but Minho doesn't ask. He stands up and pulls Thomas towards the forest line. Thomas almost digs his heels in to resist. If he never saw the inside of that forest again, he wouldn't regret it.

But Minho is with him, and Minho keeps pulling. It's dark now, the trees barring right through the moonlight; in disjointed stripes, it pools at their roots.There is just enough light where the trunks and branches are sparse enough, just enough for Minho to push him up against one particular tree and pin him there. Arms and legs and chest heaving with breath bracketing him to the rough tug of the bark. Minho's mouth hot against his, desperate, tongue finding him faster than usual.

Thomas doesn't hold out. He doesn't make himself wait for it, doesn't suspend desire any longer. His stomach tightens with adrenaline, his skin lighting up, his heart pounding in his chest so hard that he feels it in his throat, his trunk, his head. Minho drags his hands down, tightening them around Thomas' hips to pull him forward, their bodies connecting at the groin. Thomas gasps a wordless approval.

"Want to know how I want you tonight?" Minho asks, whispers, breaths against the shell of his ear, lips dragging against the sensitive skin there.

"Yes," Thomas moans, arching and stealing a bit of friction.

"On the ground. Here. I want your heart to be beating so hard I can feel it when my cock is in you."

Thomas' body gives a confused, aroused lurch, his dick hardening to the point of discomfort. He wants to undo the front of his pants, but he doesn't dare part from Minho enough to be able to do it.

"I want to chase you through this forest like a scared little deer. And when I catch you, I want to catch you panicking. I want to eat you whole."

Minho bites at his neck and Thomas moans, fingers tightening around the back of Minho's neck. "Yes," he gasps.

"Do you want it to hurt?"

Thomas' groin throbs. " _Yes_."

Minho dives in to kiss Thomas but he ducks. He already knows what he's going to do. Minho's arm, slack around his waist, is easy to knock away. It's hard to find his footing on those first few steps, his body still foggy with desire, but he knows that Minho is shocked enough for him to gain a few steps of a head start. The sound of rustling behind him signals the start of the chase, and as best he can, he calculates his odds.

Minho is stronger. Faster. Smart, but not smarter. Thomas' greatest edge is his knowledge of the forest. He takes a sharp turn and hears a frenzied stuttering of steps behind him before Minho is on his tail again. He figures he's got a few more of these shocks before he can shake Minho from his trail. Once through a thicket, once taking a sharp turn from twelve o' clock to three through a clearing. In a particularly dense part of the forest, Thomas accidentally scares something into bolting out in front of him. A large, tailless cat, he can tell from the blurred glimpse he got. He comes to a stop by leaping into the shadows of three trees so tight that they're almost growing together, and moments later, Minho streaks past, following the footsteps of something else.

Thomas waits for what feels like hours before moving again. He knows it can't be that long, knows he doesn't have much time before Minho will be doubling back. He's sure to have realized by now that the trail he's on is that of some wild cat. Thomas ducks out from the trees and turns a direction that he hasn't taken yet. He treads lightly with eyes and ears wide open. He feels like he could die at any second, and he can't remember ever being harder than he is right now.

He's deep enough in the forest that the moon no longer bears down on him, no longer lights his path. He moves with caution, for the noise of the leaves under his feet but also the safety of his ankles, which twist amongst the tree roots if he's not careful. There are less sounds than he anticipated, the air quiet enough that each small rustle of leaves has him gazing wildly around, expecting to be jumped at any second. His stomach flutters ceaselessly, and his heart is pounding so hard he thinks Minho will catch him just by following its sound.

It's when his path edges back towards the lighter part of the forest that he hears it. A rock rolling against the soft earth; kicked, to be certain. There is no wind strong enough to move even a pebble tonight. The sound comes from somewhere a few yards behind him and he breaks into a hard run immediately. Minho, Thomas can hear, is so close behind him he could be breathing down Thomas' neck. His heart is in his throat and his stomach is a black hole. They breach the clearing and Thomas thinks that if he can just get a wide stride through here, where he can see where he's stepping, if he can just take a few leaping steps, he can get out from under his pursuer.

It doesn't happen that way. Minho gets a grip of his shirt and they both go down hard, Minho scrambling on top of Thomas' back as soon as they've come to a stop. Thomas fights it at first, feels the surge of the chase course through him; Minho, ever the steady predator, pins him easily. His hands tremble against the grass as Minho hauls his clothes out of the way. He slams his eyes shut and pushes his forehead against the damp ground, biting his lip so hard that the tang of blood springs to the surface. Minho is not gentle with him.

With his pants pulled down and away, Minho can knee his legs apart. Kneeling between them and using his thumbs to pry Thomas open, the pads of his fingers taking the rim of his entrance and pulling only slightly. He leans forward and breaths hot against the sensitive skin; Thomas could come from it, he thinks, if he could reach down and touch himself. He doesn't think Minho would let him.

Minho licks a long stripe right up the middle of him, not stopping to tease at the place where his fingers still pry. Only coming back afterwards, licking into him like an afterthought. Not licking him like he usually does, either; careless. Heedless, more like. Without a single thought as to whether or not Thomas is enjoying it. For some reason, Thomas enjoys it all the more.

When it's wet enough, Minho slides a finger into him. Curling it as he goes, rough and fast and adding another one. He slides his tongue back in alongside them. "God, you feel so good," he growls when he comes up to take a breath. A third finger is in just as quickly as it is out, and Minho is spitting into his hand to lubricate the head of his cock.

He doesn't wait long enough to let anything dry, either. Thomas' ass is just as slick as it was when the fingers were in him; not quite slick enough for Minho to slide right in. It takes two tries before he's in all the way. Thomas' toes are curling up. His fingers are tucked into balls against the grass. He pushes back against Minho, hoping that one of them will touch him. He feels so close he can almost taste it.

Minho doesn't waste any time before he starts moving. Everything tonight is fast, like Thomas might spoil if he leaves him out too long. The kill, prone and gutted. Minho, enjoying his feast. His body hovering close to Thomas, the front of his shirt dragging against Thomas' back. He bites and sucks at Thomas' neck, no more sweet kisses left in his mouth. Thomas moans without restraint, breathes like he's dying, clutches the grass beneath him just to have a hold on _something_.

He doesn't think about how Minho feels, how close he is, until he comes, hips stuttering with one more deep thrust into Thomas' body. Cock pulsing as his release comes in waves. Thomas can feel it, Minho's tenseness, the sounds he's making, the way he slowly just keeps pushing further and further in, his body still tightening until it's over, and he slumps forward.

Thomas just lays there, desperate but submissive. The perfect prey. Minho doesn't make him wait long. He pulls out and grabs Thomas by the hips, pulling him up onto his knees. Surging forward, getting his lips back on him and sucking. Thomas can feel the wet heat of Minho's mouth mixing with the wet heat of his release, starting to dribble out of Thomas' entrance in beads. Minho cleans him, licking until there's nothing left and then licking in until he's clean inside, too. Thomas rocks back towards his face, begging without paying attention to what he's saying. The word please leaves his mouth more times than he thinks he's said it in his entire life before now.

Minho finally rolls him over, his grip bruising where he uses it to turn Thomas around, and the first hot shock of his mouth closing over Thomas' cock has him reeling. He grabs Minho's hair with dirt under his fingernails. Throws his head back into the ground and gapes. No sound comes out when he comes, Minho swallowing, but messily. He feels parted from the earth, as though he could be floating. All of the nerves that went into getting here, with Minho mouthing at his hipbone in the afterglow, all of it blurs into a quiet bliss. Minho slides up the length of his body and kisses him, his mouth tasting like both of them. Thomas pulls a face but refuses to stop accepting those kisses.

It's Minho who gets up first, mumbling something about how if they don't get back soon, people will start to worry. Thomas is certain it's been a couple hours already. If the camp isn't worried already, they never will be. Still, clouds have drifted over the moon and the wind that brought them smells like rain. The two hustle to find shelter with the others, though their walk back is awkward and hindered.

Minho has himself wrapped around Thomas, who doesn't really want to be released.


End file.
